


Shrouded

by shoshanaisabelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Fluff, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, M/M, Making Out, Trans, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshanaisabelle/pseuds/shoshanaisabelle
Summary: Scorpius has something to tell Albus.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 172





	Shrouded

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who has been hurt by JKR's recent comments. You are valid.
> 
> A big thank you to [Eldabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldabe/pseuds/Eldabe) for helping cultivate this idea, reading everything (even my self-indulgent rambles) and offering endless support.

Scorpius has always admired Albus’s mouth. 

Albus’s lips are full; his smile slightly crooked, lending itself to an expression of continual smirking. In the moments Albus forgets his own perpetual grumpiness, his face crinkles and a dimple appears on one corner of his mouth. Just the one. He doesn’t like people commenting on it.

His lips are moist, but never too wet, and his tongue is noticeably long every time it darts out to ensure this. Scorpius likes to watch Albus’s tongue, too.

Albus’s mouth presses with confidence against Scorpius’s, free from the uncertainty Scorpius is sure he still exhibits. It’s like he’s been doing this forever, or really just has everything sorted out. Stolen hours alone in the dormitory feel like minutes, and Scorpius relaxes in the tranquillity of it all. He wonders if he could be content with this forever.

That is until Scorpius becomes aware of Albus’s fingers, wandering from their resting place on Scorpius’s neck. Suddenly the sensation of kissing Albus is not so relaxing.

Scorpius rolls over, bringing Albus with him so that now he is the one on top of Albus. It works. Albus’s mouth lets out the kind of sound that makes Scorpius shiver, his hands returning to Scorpius’s neck, pulling their mouths together once more. 

BANG.

Scorpius and Albus jump apart as though the other has been infected with dragon pox. Scorpius ends up on the floor. The whole thing is futile anyway because Albus is on Scorpius’s bed and everyone knows they’re dating.

“My eyes!” exclaims a familiar voice from the doorway. “Can I cast obliviate on myself?”

“Come on, you can’t keep it in your pants long enough to wait until classes are over?”

“Shut up,” growls Albus, faster to react than Scorpius, who is still sprawled across the floor with his heart racing. “I didn’t complain when I had to endure hours of you bleating over whether or not Eucretia undid her top button just for you.”

“Poor Albus Potter, so gay he can’t handle the mention of boobs.”

“You’ve got troll’s brains,” Albus shoots back, which isn’t his most convincing argument. 

“All right!” yelps Jesmond, stepping in front of Carnaby. “Chill out, lads. Carnaby, your asshole is showing-“

“I better not let Potter at it then-“

Albus takes a menacing step forward and Scorpius recovers enough to reach for his calf from the floor. Albus stumbles.

“ENOUGH. Potter, Malfoy, we just want you to put a sock on the door handle or something. And you know, cast a silencing charm at night when you’re at it.”

The implication goes unanswered. Scorpius nods furiously, and Albus looks at him with betrayal.

*

Albus is in a bad mood the rest of the day, not least of all because they’re caught skiving by Professor McLuhan and punished with detention the following Monday evening. 

“I’m dropping Divination anyway,” groans Albus. “I wish dad hadn’t told me not to take it.”

By the time Albus and Scorpius go to their separate beds, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room watching them, Scorpius is glad to be rid of him.

The next morning starts promisingly. Albus wakes up early enough for them both to get breakfast together. They hold hands on the way to the Great Hall, and no passers-by so much as glance their direction.

It’s still early, so the Great Hall isn’t busy. They sit at their preferred seats at the far end of the Slytherin table and Albus spoons scrambled eggs onto his plate. “Want some?”

Scorpius shakes his head, instead examining a jar of gooseberry jam.

Owls begin to flock through the hall before he can make a decision on the jam. Albus grins and stands up to receive a letter from his tawny owl, Hildefried, while Scorpius trains his seeker reflexes to catch a copy of the Daily Prophet before it lands in the jam. He glances at it before putting it to the side; suddenly deciding he’s not hungry.

Albus rips through his envelope like it’s Christmas morning. He takes a few seconds to read it, delight forming on his face. “It’s from Mum! She says your dad agreed to you coming over to stay for New Year’s!”

Scorpius blinks, as Albus passes him the letter. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or not, but he knows he’s glad Ginny asked his father instead if doing it himself.

“New Year’s at ours is great,” says Albus, “there are so many people there that nobody’ll notice if we disappear for a bit-“

He’s interrupted by a schoolbag dropping onto the seat next to him. Scorpius looks up to see Carnaby and Jesmond taking the two seats next to them.

Albus glares at Carnaby, who Jesmond nudges. “I just wanted to say. Sorry. For yesterday. That wasn’t cool.”

“It’s fine,” says Scorpius.

“I was wrong to say you had troll’s brains,” says Albus seriously. “Trolls are capable of basic speech.”

Carnaby takes this as a compliment, grinning. He too goes for the scrambled eggs, though Albus does not offer to help.

Jesmond picks up Scorpius’s abandoned Daily Prophet, flicking to the back for the sporting news.

“That yours, Malfoy?” asks Carnaby, gesturing at the paper.

“Yes,” says Scorpius. Albus is making eyes at him across the table. He seems to have realised that if Jesmond and Carnaby are here, their dormitory must be free.

“What do you think about all that?” says Carnaby, pointing to the story on the back page of the Daily Prophet.

Scorpius glances back, his heart sinking. There’s no way he can get out of this conversation now. 

Albus glances at the back page. “What about it?”

“You know, your mum does all the sport and you’re like…” Carnaby trails off.

“Claredon Caningthia is the best beater in the game right now,” says Albus. “Why wouldn’t the Harpies want her as their captain?”

Carnaby mutters something like “she’s not a real woman” and Jesmond throws the paper down, exasperated. “Sam!”

Scorpius keeps his eyes trained on his pumpkin juice, wondering how hard it would be to leave without anyone noticing. He can’t block out the words, because it’s as if all his senses have unexplainably heightened. He wishes they would do that for actually useful things, like exams.

He must miss something, because when Albus next speaks he sounds seriously disgruntled. “You know what – you are a prat. Screw your apology.”

Scorpius feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up. It’s Albus, with a foul look on his face.

“Come on,” he says. “I’m done eating.”

“I was only making conversation,” says Carnaby, as Albus glares daggers at him. Jesmond has his head in his hands.

“Do you want your paper back, mate?”

“I’ve read it already,” says Scorpius quickly, which causes Albus to stare at him. He yanks the Prophet out of Jesmond’s hands.

“I get first dibs,” he says, before grabbing Scorpius’s other hand and practically dragging him away.

The silence of the corridor is almost worse than the crowded Great Hall. All Scorpius can hear is his own heart, beating so loudly he wonders if Albus will hear it. He wonders if it will give him away.

“I wish we didn’t have to room with that idiot,” says Albus furiously. 

He turns to Scorpius when Scorpius says nothing. “Are you all right? You were really quiet in there.”

“Not feeling well.”

Albus must recognise the lie for what it is, because his voice softens as he looks at Scorpius. “It’s their problem, not ours.”

Scorpius tries his hardest to smile back.

*

The conversation weighs on Scorpius over the next few days, not least because Albus keeps that damn copy of the Prophet – unread – on his bedside table, possibly as an act of defiance to Carnaby. Every time Scorpius looks over to see what Albus is doing, he can’t help but notice it.

They next find themselves alone in the dormitory early on Thursday evening, while Carnaby and Jesmond are at dinner.

“Don’t go to Quidditch practice,” murmurs Albus with that beautiful mouth, his eyes boring into Scorpius’s. His lips look different now – flushed and plump from the fact they’ve been making out for twenty minutes already. “Stay with me instead.”

Scorpius pulls Albus towards him, running a hand through Albus’s messy hair that makes it even messier. Albus makes a good point really. It’s only November, but it already feels like winter on the training ground. There are even (inaccurate, Quidditch doesn’t get cancelled for weather, says Albus) reports of this weekend’s Quidditch fixtures being postponed for a snowstorm. 

Scorpius would much rather be here, warm and pressed against Albus. This time Scorpius is on top, and Albus’s hands are holding his waist, curving around to touch his rear. The only thing that would make it better would be if they weren’t wearing any robes. If only he could move his kisses southward, elsewhere on Albus’s body, without – 

He’s brought back to his senses by Albus’s hands finding their way inside his robes. Scorpius suddenly remembers the last time he skipped a Quidditch session to make out with Albus, and how Carnaby had told Bellingham, the team captain, who threatened to drop Scorpius if he couldn’t prove he was serious about Quidditch. It’s like a bucket of cold water to Scorpius’s senses.

Scorpius’s hands find Albus’s, pulling them from the danger, and pushing them back against the bed so he has Albus pinned down. Albus looks confused for a moment, then grins with victory. “You’re gonna stay here?”

Scorpius leans down and kisses him, laughing. “Sorry, no.”

He gets up, leaving Albus on the bed. Albus groans loudly. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

“I’m going to get thrown off the team if I skip any more practices,” says Scorpius honestly, “and anyway, the guys could be back any time now.”

Albus pulls a face and checks his watch. “I reckon we have at least twenty minutes.”

The door swings open and Albus groans again. Jesmond enters through the door, stopping when he sees Albus spread-eagled on the bed and Scorpius hurriedly grabbing his training bag. Scorpius gives Albus a look that says ‘I told you so’, and bids them both a good evening before he rushes out to Quidditch practice.

Quidditch turns out to be exactly what he needs. The freezing temperatures barely matter after Bellingham casts warming charms on their brooms, and the focus of the game is a welcome distraction. By the time the practice ends, Scorpius is feeling pretty good about the fact he caught the snitch eleven times in two hours.

“That’s exactly how we should be playing!” says Bellingham, halfway through her team morale speech. “If we keep playing like this, we’ll thrash the Hufflepuffs.”

There’s a murmur of assent. The rest of the team do not look as good as Scorpius feels. Their lips are chapped from the cold. Warrington is still shivering, despite the fact she’s draped herself in a towel.

“They’re on a high, ‘cause that Caningsomething person was Hufflepuff captain at Hogwarts and they’ve made it big. We need to crush that hope.”

Scorpius feels his blood run cold.

“Claredon Caningthia,” corrects Warrington, sitting up. “They’re my favourite player.”

“Mine too,” says Fawley. “And she’s a she, not a they.”

Scorpius dares a glance up to see Bellingham looks exasperated to be derailed from her speech.

“All right, Caningthia. Well, the Hufflepuffs all love her – and she’s been the morale boost they needed. My scouts say they’re playing better than ever. That’s who we need to beat.”

“Who are your scouts?” asks Khan, eyes wide.

“Fewer witnesses, fewer penalties,” says Bellingham, grinning. “You heard what I said then? Let’s keep that energy up.”

Scorpius never changes in the dressing rooms, preferring the familiarity of the Slytherin bathrooms after training. It usually means he can get out before being forced to make small talk with the rest of the team when they’ve moved on from tactics. Today, he isn’t fast enough.

“Scorpius,” calls Warrington. “What do you think about Caningthia? Should I get her on my Quintessential Quidditch team?”

Scorpius stops at the question, pulse quickening. Warrington is waving a newspaper at him, with a list of players and scores scribbled on it. He wonders why Warrington is asking him this question, and not someone else –

“You have her on your team, and you’re top of the league,” adds Warrington, “should I sell Fred Weasley to get her too?”

“Scorpius got her at the start of the season,” says Khan. “She’s way too expensive to trade for Potter now.”

Scorpius smiles and nods. “I – er – have to go.” Warrington’s face drops. “But um, she’s got a good run of upcoming games. I think she’s worth it.”

The last thing he sees as he flees the dressing room is Warrington grinning. He walks quickly. It’s still freezing outside, but Scorpius is sweating.

*

On Sunday morning, Scorpius wakes hours before dawn with a burning sensation on his left wrist. His watch is red hot, but it’s done its job. In the bed next to his, Albus is snoring. The copy of the Daily Prophet is still sitting by his bed, now underneath a pile of rubbish.

Scorpius mutters a spell to turn the alarm off, then stumbles out of bed, gathers his clothes for the day, and makes his way to the bathrooms to change.

It’s quiet in the Hogwarts corridors at this time of the morning; long before breakfast starts or even student curfews are lifted. He carries a note in his pocket with express permission to be outside his dormitory at this hour, but he prefers to simply avoid any passing teachers. This has been his policy since the time in first year he encountered Peeves on this same trip.

The Hospital Wing is only open for him at this hour, but as he mutters the password and hurries past the empty beds to find Madame Pomfrey he is interrupted by a voice he knows well.

“Scorpius.”

Scorpius’s blood runs cold. He turns to his left, where his father is sitting on a unused bed.

“Dad.”

It’s still a bit awkward from the events of fourth year, but Scorpius knows he shouldn’t be afraid of what his dad might say.

“Mind if I have a word?”

Scorpius bows his head. “No – I –“

He’s saved by the sound of footsteps approaching. Madame Pomfrey appears, her face dropping as she recognises Draco.

“Scorpius, you’re right on time, come inside. Mr Malfoy, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

It’s abruptly clear to Scorpius that Madame Pomfrey doesn’t trust his dad. He takes a step towards him in solidarity.

“I needed a word with my son,” says Draco, at the same time Scorpius says, “I want my dad to come in with me.”

Madame Pomfrey blinks, but gestures for them both to make their way to her office.

“I need to speak with my son – alone,” says Draco, and Madame Pomfrey rolls her eyes before addressing Scorpius.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Scorpius shakes his head. 

She sighs. “All right. You’ve got twenty minutes while I do my rounds. Scorpius, if you need anything, I’m just outside.”

Madame Pomfrey leaves, giving Draco a dirty look as she does. 

“How are things-“ tries Scorpius, before Draco waves him aside.

“When were you planning on telling me you’re spending the holidays with the Potters?”

Scorpius gulps. “I just thought-“

“-that it would be better if I found out from Albus’s mum?”

There’s a silence. Scorpius doesn’t know what to say, and when he finally looks up at his father – he realises Draco doesn’t either.

Draco sighs, and looks away. “I don’t want to pry, Scorpius, I really don’t, but I just need to make sure you’ve thought this through.”

This does make Scorpius start.

“I,” Scorpius stammers, trying to find the words “I – I really like him, dad! I –“

Draco waves him aside again. “I don’t doubt that, and you know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“You don’t mind that we’re – I’m,” he stops for breath. “I’m making everything harder…”

Draco puts his hand on Scorpius’s shoulder. Scorpius looks up, surprised.

“Scorpius,” says Draco. “You know, or you should know, you will always have my support as your father. I know you don’t have control over who you fall in love with, or even who you are-“

Scorpius looks toward the cauldron on the fire, lightly bubbling over their conversation.

“Some control,” he says quietly.

“Not as much as what I want for you.”

It’s as though there is warmth flowing into his body from where his father touches him. Draco takes a seat beside him; his presence more reassuring than intimidating now. 

“Have you told Albus?”

Draco says it gently, but it doesn’t stop the panic that is already rising in Scorpius’s chest.

“No,” admits Scorpius. He raises a hand to brush away the embarrassing leak from his eye, but his father takes his hand and squeezes it.

“Scorpius,” says Draco again. “If you don’t want to tell him –“

“I do want to tell him,” Scorpius says quickly, though the words are muffled by the fact he is definitely crying now. “I do want to tell him, dad, I just don’t know how.”

Draco pulls Scorpius into his arms. He says nothing, but still Scorpius is comforted as he cries against his father’s chest. He tries to focus on the contents of the cauldron and the happiness he knows it will provide.

When the tears start to dry, Draco loosens his grip.

“Do you think I should tell him?” asks Scorpius.

His father looks suddenly uncomfortable again. In that moment Scorpius knows what his father wants to advise, though he doubts he will say it. More than a decade of secrecy, of hiding him away, doesn’t change overnight.

Not for the first time, Scorpius wonders what his mother would say.

Instead, his father says this. “You’re sixteen years old, Scorpius, and already you’ve made a thousand better decisions than I have in a lifetime. I trust your choice, whatever that may be.” 

He meets Scorpius’s eyes. “You don’t need to worry about my support, now or ever.”

It’s enough to make Scorpius start crying again, and that is how Madame Pomfrey finds them – Scorpius tucked under his father’s arm, sobbing into the expensive material of his father’s finest robes.

Her treatment of Draco softens after that. Scorpius’s dad stays with them as she administers the potion, and by the time Madame Pomfrey says he’s free to go and she’ll see him again in three months, it’s nearly light outside.

“I can make arrangements to send you to Beauxbatons, you don’t have to stay here if he has any problems,” Draco is saying as they leave, “maybe not Durmstrang. We’ll see – whatever you want.”

“Dad,” says Scorpius, already exhausted by the morning so far. “I’m okay.”

Maybe it’s the aftermath of an intense emotional release, but Scorpius feels oddly serene.

“I trust Albus,” says Scorpius. However foolhardy it might be, he believes it.

Draco hugs him goodbye as they leave the hospital wing together. “I trust you.”

Scorpius heads back to the dormitory. None of the other boys are awake yet, though Albus has moved position in his sleep. Scorpius puts his pyjamas back on and crawls into bed.

*

The decision about when and where to tell Albus is taken out of his hands the next weekend, when a reminder is posted on the Slytherin notice board.

“Brilliant,” says Albus brightly, “It’s Hogsmeade weekend.”

He grins back at Scorpius, who can’t help but smile back. He’s known Albus long enough to know that the prospect of visiting Hogsmeade is a less exciting one to Albus than the idea of being without Carnaby and Jesmond for a day.

Carnaby thumps Albus on the back and both of them jump. “Great news, you and loverboy finally get a day to bonk in private.”

He laughs like he’s said something funny. Albus doesn’t laugh with him, so Carnaby shrugs then leaves the Common Room.

It makes the air tense between Albus and Scorpius. 

“We could, if you want?” says Albus, at the same time Scorpius says, “I honestly think Carnaby’s trying.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

Their confusion turns to laughter, before Albus punches Scorpius and they race back to their dormitory like they’re first years exploring Hogwarts for the first time.

The dormitory confirms what they already knew: Carnaby and Jesmond have left for Hogsmeade. If past trips are any indication, they won’t be back until curfew, and they’ll probably head straight to dinner before coming back anyway. It’s not even lunchtime and Albus and Scorpius have the whole day to themselves.

Scorpius touches Albus on the back. Now is the time, he thinks to himself. 

Albus spins. He has that mischievous smile on his face today – the kind Scorpius recognises from when they’re both about to get in a lot of trouble – and he kisses him.

Scorpius forgets what he is going to say. Albus puts his arms around him, deepening a kiss that is making bells ring in Scorpius’s ears and butterflies dance in his stomach. 

They land on Albus’s bed before Scorpius realises that he’s being pulled towards it. They’re a disorganised mess of limbs, and Scorpius has no time to gather his thoughts before Albus pulls him on top of him again, as though any moment they are not kissing is a moment wasted. The beast inside of Scorpius’s chest roars in agreement.

“Finally,” hisses Albus. Scorpius wishes he could see Albus’s mouth as he says it, but they’re too closely attached. Only thin layers of clothing separate them now.

How long they remain like that, kissing on Albus’s bed, Scorpius isn’t sure. The outside world is reduced to a buzz of pure bliss as they move together.

He can feel Albus is hard. He’s felt Albus hard a few times now, always while making out like this. They’ve always had a reason to stop before. Either classes or roommates or Quidditch practice or dinner or some other way Scorpius can deflect from this impending doom. Albus groans, rocking against Scorpius’s thigh, desperate for friction. It makes it hard to think straight. 

Scorpius wonders if he can get away with it, if they remove no clothes, before the sound of Albus whining brings him back to a cold reality. Without invitation, the image of Albus recoiling from him enters his head. His face is screwed in disgust; the lips Scorpius enjoys so much opening to say something foul. Scorpius freezes. 

“Are you okay?” 

Scorpius glances at Albus. His eyes are so dilated the green is barely visible, his skin is flushed, and his lips swollen from kissing. Scorpius imagines those same eyes staring in shock, in horror – in revulsion.

“Yes,” says Scorpius, even as he feels the bile rising in his throat. Albus simply looks at him, but Scorpius finds he can’t keep looking at Albus. He gets up and sits on the edge of the bed facing away from him. He tries to focus on his breathing, and not the images that suddenly won’t leave his head.

“Scorpius,” says Albus from behind him. “If you don’t want to do this, or you don’t want me, we don’t have to –“

“No!” says Scorpius, feeling even more panicked. “Nothing like that!”

He feels from the bedsprings that Albus is getting up now too. He doesn’t reach out to touch him though, and Scorpius wonders if he might never do so again. He wonders if all this is over, before Scorpius has even said anything.

“You’ve been weird for weeks. Weirder than usual, even for you. If you’ve realised that being with me isn’t really what you want – I get it.”

“This is what I want!” Scorpius yelps. He turns to face Albus – he really wants Albus to believe that.

Albus blinks, perhaps at the ferocity of it. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” says Scorpius, sighing. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to say the two words he’s been agonising about his entire life at Hogwarts. It feels like they are there for hours, but Albus does not interrupt. 

“I’m trans.”

The silence is so loud that – paradoxically - it seems to ring in Scorpius’s ears. Scorpius doesn’t dare look at Albus, as he struggles to make himself clearer. “A boy trans – I mean, trans boy.”

There has never been a moment in Scorpius’s life longer than this one. He tries to summon all his favourite memories as though he were casting a Patronus Charm – receiving his Hogwarts letter, meeting Albus, making the Quidditch team, kissing Albus…

Albus’s touch startles Scorpius and he jumps, though it is merely a gentle brush of skin. Albus withdraws quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-“

The positive images fade, as Scorpius can’t keep the bad thoughts at bay. Why is Albus apologising? Are they going to break up now? Will they stop being best friends – or even hanging out together at all? 

“Scorpius, please.”

Scorpius finally looks up to see Albus looking as awful as Scorpius feels. He has his arms outstretched, a clear invitation to touch. Their eyes connect. Scorpius looks for disgust or hatred there, but does not find it. Tentatively, Scorpius shuffles into Albus’s arms. He feels Albus’s tense shoulders loosen as he pulls him close.

“Thanks for telling me,” murmurs Albus. He breathes into Scorpius’s neck, and Scorpius is unsure what that means, until he says, “I love you.”

Scorpius jerks back the inch that Albus’s tight grip will allow, so he can stare Albus in the eyes. “What?”

Albus doesn’t break his gaze. Nor does he let go of Scorpius. “I know we haven’t said that yet, but I do. Really. I mean it.”

“You don’t… care?” asks Scorpius, because he needs clarity.

“No,” says Albus, “of course I don’t. Did you think I would?”

Scorpius shrugs. He isn’t really sure what he thought, but his body already feels a thousand times lighter. “I’ve just - I’ve never told anyone before. Well, my parents, but I don’t remember that exact conversation. I was really young.”

“You always knew?”

Scorpius nods. “Always. My mum couldn’t get me to stay in a dress longer than the twenty-seven seconds it took me to remove it. I always knew something was wrong. I think Mum did too.”

Albus speaks warily. “And your dad?”

“It was Dad’s idea to disappear… as a family. They said Mum was sick again. Dad said I could use the time to work out who I was, and the Wizarding World didn’t have to know there was ever anything else. Anytime anyone asked him about his daughter he said they were misinformed. The Malfoys had a son. It led to the son of Voldemort rumours, obviously, as you know… but even that wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was oddly affirming at the start… Mum and Dad convinced everybody they had a son.”

“They did have a son,” says Albus quietly.

“Yeah, well, you know. I can’t, er, fully transition until I’m seventeen in this country. Dad wanted to go abroad – pay off a private healer – when I said I was sure. Mum said we ought to follow the law, because it’s there for a reason. I wish she hadn’t, but I can’t argue now.”

Albus brushes his fingers down Scorpius’s arm until their hands meet. He intertwines their fingers. “It’s only a few months.”

Scorpius feels a rush of gratitude, his chest swelling with a new feeling – one he isn’t familiar with. And then it’s like he has unleashed a floodgate, because he can’t stop talking. Every word feels like a release.

“Hogwarts was the first time nobody had ever known me as a girl. Well, Professor McGonagall knew, though she never mentioned it, and so did Madam Pomfrey as I had to visit her for regular gender affirming potions. Nobody else. They said I would sleep in the boys’ dormitory. You were there with me. It was the happiest I’d ever been in my life.”

Albus smiles.

“I wanted to tell you - really wanted to tell you – but Dad said I shouldn’t tell anyone, and then Mum died, and then fourth year happened, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you too. I thought if I just got to seventeen like Dad wanted, nobody else would ever have to know. Trans wizards and witches have done it before.”

“It just got harder and harder to keep my secret, and then you kissed me, and then you told me you were gay and asked if we could keep kissing. And I wanted that more than anything, even more than keeping my secret. I should have said no, I know I should have said no, but-“

“I’m so happy you didn’t say no,” says Albus, “I thought I would die if you didn’t want me back.”

It’s unusual to hear Albus so open. Scorpius laughs, the tension broken. “Dramatic, Albus.”

Albus grins, but then his smile drops. “Wait, is this why you’ve been so weird about New Year’s?”

Scorpius feels himself blush, then nods. “Sorry, I didn’t think that you would just not notice I was trans if we started sleeping together.”

“No, I’m not James,” snorts Albus, before, “sorry – bad joke.”

Scorpius laughs anyway, because his heart is filled to the brim with Albus. The familiar mischievous grin reappears on Albus’s face.

“Do you still want to?”

“Have sex?”

“Yeah.”

“Er, maybe not right now,” says Scorpius honestly.

“Of course not right now,” says Albus, flustered in that adorable way. “I meant another time. In the future, maybe, if you wanted to.”

“Do you still want to?”

“Yeah,” says Albus, “if you’re comfortable with that. We can wait until you’re seventeen if you want –“

“I did not go through all that just so we could wait until next summer to have sex,” says Scorpius quickly.

“Thank Dumbledore,” says Albus. Scorpius laughs at his transparency.

“I want to try. I’ve read a lot about it.”

Albus rolls his eyes, but then he smiles so brightly the one dimple is visible again. He holds Scorpius close to him and Scorpius feels warmth everywhere he touches. It’s not the same as the heated energy that surged between them before. It’s safer, steadier, and comforting. It’s better. 

“Of course you have,” says Albus.

*

New Year’s Eve in Wales is a cold but beautiful cloudless day. Harry, Lily and Scorpius are all wearing matching dark green hats and scarves, and Lily is chanting a song with a lot of rhyming swearwords. The crowd cheers as Claredon Caningthia bats a bludger straight into the path of the opposing chaser, making him drop the ball. Caningthia’s teammate to collects it, flying down the left wing until a smart back and forth between the three Harpies chasers makes the Falcons keeper dive the wrong direction. The Harpies score.

The only person bringing the mood down is Albus, sitting sullenly in his seat and only offering a polite clap for the exploits of the Holyhead Harpies. He’s been sitting down for the last four hours, his interest in the sport waning after half an hour. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined New Year would go…” 

Scorpius laughs, bending down to kiss him. He wraps his own Harpies scarf around Albus while his boyfriend is distracted.

“Eyes on the game, boys,” says Harry, and Albus goes bright red and stands up. He doesn’t remove the scarf, and he rolls his eyes when Scorpius can’t stop laughing at his reaction to being caught out by Albus’s dad.

“It probably won’t last that much longer,” says Scorpius, just as the Harpies’ seeker misses a golden opportunity to catch the snitch.

Scorpius misses another goal while admiring the way Albus’s mouth looks when he pouts.

“What happened?” Scorpius asks Lily.

“Caningthia,” says Lily. “She hit that bludger so hard it bounced off the post and knocked the quaffle out of the way just as it was sure to go through the hoop. Better save than most keepers could manage.”

“She’s my favourite,” says Scorpius.

Lily smiles. “If she keeps playing like this I’m going to have to consider changing allegiance from seeker.”

“I tried, once,” says Scorpius. “I couldn’t lift my arms for a week after.”

“Oh no,” says Lily, “You need your arms. How else will you drag my obstinate brother to Quidditch with you?”

“I heard that,” complains Albus. He puts his arm around Scorpius, and this time Harry says nothing. Scorpius smiles, feeling warmth where their bodies meet that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the sudden feeling of contentment – of acceptance.

He glances at the magical scoreboard, which reads 440 – 170 to the Harpies, and Lily starts to chant again. The same words ring out across the stadium.

_She blocks, she soars, she’ll never let you score  
Caningthia, Caningthia_

Albus’s arm is tight around Scorpius. Caningthia uses the break between a Harpies goal and the game resetting to conduct the crowd. The cheering doesn’t stop, and nor does the calm in Scorpius’s head.


End file.
